


Amputee

by ColorInPlatinum



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: how did junkrat lose his limbs, it's kinda painful, you're about to find out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-07
Updated: 2016-06-07
Packaged: 2018-07-12 19:13:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7119019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColorInPlatinum/pseuds/ColorInPlatinum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>junkrat lost his leg when he was a child. it was roadhog who helped his arm along.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Amputee

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: this involves blood and gore and violence. if you read this and then complain, ain't my fault.

He was thirteen when he lost his leg.

Junkrat always loved explosives, and he worked with them since the day he could walk. That meant an overload of information about them, spouting the facts to anyone who would listen--or at least care to pretend.

He was scavenging one day when it happened. Tossing pieces here and there when he heard a click and felt the ground under his right foot sink by half an inch.

A mine.

He spent days without food or water, his legs screaming in agony, until he finally worked up the nerve to bite the bullet and move. It blew his leg clean off, just above the knee. He crawled his way back to Junkertown.

But that was ten years ago. Now, he's working happily with Roadhog, heists every other day and swimming in cash the rest. The nights were spent curled up next to the big lug, partially for warmth, partially to stay safe. They had fun. They were happy.

But even the best criminal--hell, even the heroes--have their off days.

And today was one of them.

The cops had back them into a corner, which wasn't usually an issue, but in closed off spaces like this, throwing bombs was a bad idea. Junkrat would blow them both to kingdom come if he let loose more then a few shots from his frag launcher. Because of this, he was hiding behind Roadhog, trying to modify the mine so it would blow a hole in the wall and not them. When he finally had it, Junkrat shouted his trademark, "FIRE IN THE HOLE!" and let it fly--

\--and it missed its target.

Disappointing, but nothing Junkrat couldn't handle. He just had to sneak past the fire, deactivate it, and then launch the mine again. That is if Roadhog would stop edging closer to it.

Holy shit--

Junkrat felt his stomach drop, his skin pale--Roadhog was the closest thing he had to a friend, no way was he letting him die by mine. With a determined roar forced through grit teeth, he rushed past Roadhog in a smoke-trailed flurry and grabbed the mine. Roadhog had only a fraction of a second to process what happened before the mine detonated right under Junkrat's arm.

Junrkat's ears were ringing, the sound of gunfire muffled by the noise. Roadhog was suddenly hanging over him, saying something. Junkrat could see past the darkened lenses of Roadhog's mask, his eyes wide and crazed. Before he knew what was happening, Roadhog had scooped Junkrat up and was running to their getaway vehicle. The ringing in his ears began to subide and suddenly a white-hot pain was shooting through his nerves and he couldn't stop screaming.

Roadhog put Junkrat down in the passenger's seat with a gentleness he never knew the brute had. Junkrat suddenly became aware of a warm feeling at the end of his arm and looked down, horrified to find the lower half of it mangled, used like a pincushion for shrapnel; the sight only made him scream harder.

Roadhog was flying down the roads, leaving their stash behind for favor of Junkrat's safety. In the thirty minutes it took to get from the bank to their hideout, Junkrat had worn his vocal cords down, his throat burning almost as bad as his arm.

Junkrat found himself back in Roadhog's arms, his chest heaving as the pain turned into a dull throb. "Roadhog--R-Roadie, mate, please--it hurts--"

For the first time since he hired Roadhog, Junkrat hears his voice clearly. "I know. I'm gonna fix it."

Roadhog set Junkrat gently against the wall, and then began digging through his filthy duffel bag. Junkrat was still in too much shock to pay attention, but after the sound of metal-on-metal ends, he finds a dirty rag in his shaking lap. "Wh...?"

Roadhog grunted and nodded toward it. "In your mouth."

Shock melted away into fear and Junkrat's skin went paper white. His hand shook as he held the rag. "You--you're not g-gonna numb it...?"

Roadhog didn't answer; how could he? They're Junkers, they don't carry anesthesia. Without another word, Roadhog pulled a rusted saw from his bag, and Junkrat found himself shaking even more.

"Mate, please!" he cried, tears welling in his eyes again. "Please, we can--can't you just pull the junk out of it? Y-you don' 'ave to cut it off. Please. Please!"

The begging was enough to make Roadhog hesitate, but not stop. Still wordless, He knelt by Junkrat with the saw still in hand. Junkrat would have yanked his arm back if he could feel it. Finally, Roadhog spoke.

"Don't watch."

Junkrat took a deep breath, shoved the rag into his mouth, and clenched his eyes shut tight. Without another moment wasted, Roadhog started sawing.

Even with the rag, Junkrat's screams were deafening. His throat burned, tears poured down his cheeks. He felt something warmer and realized with chilling horror that it was his blood spewing from the spot just below his elbow. Despite Roadhog's warning, he turned and opened his eyes.

Roadhog was a quarter of the way through already, blood dripping from his mask and covering his hands. He glanced up for a split second and huffed upon seeing Junkrat watching the impromptu surgery. Roadhog shifted and started sawing slower, harder, and sent a blast of fiery pain along Junkrat's spine.

The scream hurt, it made their ears ring, and then Junkrat spat his gag out. Eyes crazed, tears staining his cheeks, blood dripping off his chin, he shrieked at Roadhog, "I HATE YOU!"

The next hour was hell for them both. Junkrat screamed his hatred for Roadhog until his voice went out. Roadhog sawed halfway through bone before snapping it and continuing his quick but sloppy work. When it was finally over, Junkrat passed out.

He woke hours later on his back with his newly-amputated arm bandaged at the bloody stump. His throat was still sore, but he managed to work a few words out, mostly to himself.

Roadhog sat up at the sound of Junkrat's quiet words and started to move to his side.

"Stop," came Junkrat's quick, raspy order. "Don't you fucking dare come any closer."

Days passed in silence. Junkrat was silent. No twitchy, crazed conversations directed at himself or Roadhog, just total and utter silence. It was eerie. It was painful. Roadhog knew he helped, Junkrat knew he helped. But that didn't change the fact that Junkrat felt betrayed.

He slept with his back to Roadhog. He ate on the perimeter of the camp. Radio silence.

Until the fifth day finally passed. Junkrat found himself teary-eyed and standing in front of Roadhog. He mumbled an apology and fell into Roadhog's arms, sobbing his eyes out. The night passed without another incident, and Roadhog had never been more relieved to hear Junkrat jabbering on again.


End file.
